


Meroveque

by matrixrefugee



Category: The Animatrix
Genre: Drama, Sci-Fi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-28
Updated: 2010-09-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 06:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/122063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/matrixrefugee/pseuds/matrixrefugee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The origins of the entity known as the Merovingian....</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1 of 2

**Author's Note:**

> Meroveque

+J.M.J.+

Meroveque

by "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

Took me all of four months to finally produce another "Matrix" fic, even though this is arguably "The Year of "The Matrix"."! But I had this idea pop into my very strange mind after I was doing some research on the Merovingian dynasty - Yes, I'm *THAT* kind of "Matrix" geek who's done all the research on all the references in the film, thanks in no small part to "Tom"'s excellent "Matrix" weblog at:

.com

This fic takes place just before, during, and after the timeframe of "Second Rennaisence, Part 2". I can't tell you more. Read on.

Disclaimer:

I do not own "The Matrix" series, its characters, concepts, imagery and/or other indicia, which are the legal property of the W Brothers (Warner and Wachowski), Red Pill Productions, Village Roadshow, et al. (If I owned it, you'd be reading this on instead of ff.n!)

* * * * * * *

* * * * * * *

Part 1 of 2

* * * * * * *

May 18, 2245 - Rennes-le-Chateau, Languedoc region of southern France, European Union. EU Center for Strategic Research and Development

The laser beam scanned over the cobalt blue eyes of a tall man in his early forties. Reddish-brown hair brushed back from a high, intelligent forehead, revealing a slight widow's peak; a thin, plain face that seemed by turns intelligent, cynical, quiet and calculating. A lean figure, but not much to look at, the kind of man whom women describe as "distinguished" and "distinctive", words which only veiled the distaste they felt in his presence.

"Lambert Meroveque, system programmer," the SmartScanner announced, identifying him. "Going home?" it asked.

"Yes, my day's work is finished here," he replied, giving it little heed otherwise. The scanner had been given a personality chip to make it more "accessible", but it had had to be modified. Machine intelligences of any kind were largely suspect these days.

The blast door out of the underground complex unlocked, opened and swung wide. "Enjoy your evening: the sky is clear and the temp is 58 degrees Fahrenheit," the Scanner replied.

Meroveque passed through the open doorway, his hand gripping the handle of a briefcase handcuffed to his left wrist, as much for show as for real security. He strode swiftly up the sloping corridor that led to the vestibule aboveground and through another checkpoint.

Once he emerged into the cool May evening, he took from the pocket of his coat the caller for his Versitran single-passenger skimmer. As he did so, a security guard - an organic, since andros had turned so unpredictable, especially since the start of sanctions against 0 1, the intelligent machines' "country" - passed by, making his rounds. The lesser man nodded and touched the brim of his fatigue cap as he passed Meroveque, who replied with a half-absent nod of his own.

Meroveque pressed a button on the caller. A moment later, his skimmer, a small green vehicle approached, circling the Tower of the Magdelen off to his left and descending before him as he waited before the entrance to the bunker. The clear-domed hatch lifted meekly. He set his breifcase on the floor beside the seat and climbed in. He pressed first the hatch button, then the coordinates for home.

"Home" was a small but luxurious condo in a complex ten miles from the research center in the bunkers beneath the old monastery of the Prieurie de Sion, the last of home of the last of the Merovingian kings. Theudric IV has passed his remaining years here in seclusion after Martell, the usurper had all but snatched the crown from his head.

But the Carolingians and their descendents had passed on and faded into the rabble. The desendants of Meroveck, the father of their line and the first to unite the Frankish tribes under one ruler, still lived on through him.

Man's time was passing, and his stock's hour would be called. He knew it in his nerves and bones, though man scrabbled to find a means to fight the machines asserting themselves from their stronghold in the Middle East. Even if man passed, the Merovingians would endure.

The briefcase he carried, strapped to his arm, contained the means to that end, if not the hope of man's survival, at least the survival of the intellect that would otherwise pass with him.. Because he was a program chief, the directors would give little thought to examining the disks he carried to and from the bunker. He had no loyalties save that to his stock and to the European Union. He had no wife nor a partner of any kind to pry into his work. There had been one, some time ago, but he had cut himself off from her when she had sided with the machines and their cause. He was known to wrap himself so tightly in a project that his work comsumed all his waking hours, except the few he alloted to tending the needs of his body.

The body. There were ways to sidestep most of the duties its maintenance required, but he lacked the means to that end. However, he had discovered that the machines had found the way to solve this problem.

The machines. He hated them as a human, but as an intelligence, he could hardly help admiring them. They had discovered the means to immortality, or transferring the thoughts and sense-memories of humans into digital code and storing it. Though few humans knew or believed it, they had helped to construct the VR systems which had supplanted the antiquarian Internet as a means of transferring and communicating information, a quadro-dimensional digital realm which millions of people accessed every day, thousands of whom were jacked into now, enjoying sights and sounds they might never otherwise enjoy in the real world.

His skimmer touched down before the complex. He opened the hatch and climbed out. The skimmer obediently rose and flew up to its perch on the roof. He went inside, only glancing up at the sky overhead and the myriads of stars glowing there, soon to vanish behind a pall of clouds.

After another EyeDentity scan, he entered the building and stepped into the minivator which swept him up to the 42nd floor, and his rooms.

The lights dimmed on as he entered. A classical piece by Michael Nyman flowed from hidden speakers in the walls. He unchained the briefcase from his wrist and set it on the chair before the hotdesk which dominated the room.

After a bath and a light meal, he carried the briefcase into the bedroom. He opened the caseand took out a lucite security case containing a mini-CD-RW. He typed in the security code on a tiny keyboard on the case, opening the locking device and removed the disk, labelled "Operation: DarkSky. An Overview."He inserted the disk into a drive wired into the VR unit on the nightstand.

He taped to his arms and the back of his neck several electrodes on the ends of cables connected to the unit, then leaned back on the pillows as he inserted a small cable into a dock in the back of his head.

Within seconds, he was deep in, fleeting through the Realm, heading for the Source. Columns of code casscaded like rain around him. The only sign of other travellers in the Realm were the amorphous bundles of code that flitted past him through the digital mist. Because he was an adept, he saw the Realm as it really was, allowing him to pass through unnoticed by any others.

At length, he reached it, a solid column of green code, taller even than the tallest office building imaginable. The center of operations for 0 1 .

Octopus-like masses of code reared up at him in the mist, tentacles spread, ready for assault, but they scanned him as one of their kind and let him pass. Diplomatic immunity. But he couldn't know for certain how long it would last and these daemons would see him as he really was.

They let him enter the Source.

He passed through many portals before he entered the Chamber, the core from which the Master watched and directed other entities like itself. All he could see before him was a glowing, spherical mass of code which flowed and criss-crossed itself/

"Meroveque?" the entity said, verifying and acknowledging his presence. "You have brought the data we required."

"I have it on a disk, ready to upload to you," Meroveque replied.

"The plans for the offensive?"

"Yes, Master."

"Render them."

In the physical world, the upload completed and the data switched over through the cable inserted in Meroveque's skull.

In the Realm, he watched a stream of white code flow from his avatar into the orbit around the Master. The code travelled slowly at first, then gained speed as it turned green and blended itself into the being of the Master.

"You have served us well, Meroveque. Your free transmission of data and information shall not go unforgotten. You bear the mark."

A thin strand of code shot from the core of the Master's being and struck Meroveque's avatar, jolting it.

He jacked out quickly. A burning sensation enveloped his body, more scorching than any physical pleasure or pain.

When he arose from the bed to disconnect the unit, he turned to a mirror, expecting to see a physical mark somewhere on his body. On his forehead or on his right hand. He removed his robe, uncovering his body completely, and scanned over his reflection.

Between his shoulderblades, barely discernable in the dim lighting, he bore two digits burned into his skin.

0 1

* * * * * * * *

To be continued...

(Part 2 will be posted later this week... I swear on my word of honor.)  



	2. Part 1 of 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meroveque

+J.M.J.+

Meroveque

by "Matrix Refugee"

Author's Note:

Whew! You all still with me on this one? I know, it's a very strange story, and I might add an essay which explains a lot of the historical references, which I've tied in very carefully. I wrote this in just one sitting of about three hours, mind you, but I think it's one of the better things I ever wrote.

WARNING: Here be Sentinals and other machines, and therefore pain...

Disclaimer:

See Part 1

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* * * * * * *

Part 2 of 2

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November 2, 2245 - 0 1 , Middle East

Overhead, the blackened sky boiled with black and purple clouds shot with sickly yellow. Intermittent lightning flashed from cloud to cloud. Acid snow fell in wet clods, plocking against the dome of the skimmer as it flew a thousand feet above the scorched desert.

Setting fire to the earth's forests, exploding dust bombs, spreading ionized dust into the upper atmosphere: Even if man had won the war, he would nto have survived the means used to win it.

But the machines had, thanks to him, discovered the little secret plan man had devised, to cut them off from the solar power they depended upon, the very same power man himself needed.

Becuase he was vital to the strategic planners, Meroveque had spent the past few months in the bunkers at Rennes, watching the progress of the war, the last transmissions from the European front. Even he, hardened as he was, had winced in horror at the images that came to them from the battlefields. Men and machines, humans in anthropoid robotic body armor pitting against battle bots, ancient weapons man had used against his fellow man in other conflicts years before. They defeated the first wave once the sky had turned to permanent night and the machines started to "die" for lack of energy.

But the second wave had closed in on the human army: spider-like machines with lazers that sliced through the armor of the battlesuits like knives through wet paper, killing the human soldiers inside. Even he had groaned, the last time he had allowed himself to feel something for another human being, the last vestiges of emotion that remained.

The signing of the armistice between 0 1 and the human nations sealed mankind's fate, including his own. The human survivors at Rennes had tried to flee, seeking shelter in underground tunnels and caverns. To his knowledge, he alone of the strategists had evaded capture by the "sentinals" and being hauled to containment centers pending the next stage of their fate.

He headed straight into the heart of the machine world, flying straight to 0 1 , to claim his dues for the service he had rendered to the machines' cause.

His skimmer passed over columns being constructed in various locales, rising among the ruins of the human cities: strange structures of stone-like metal, a mile across, from which radiated reddish pods, like some pale, luminous fruits on some strange trellis.

He passed one so close he glimpsed the pods and, dimly visible, the somnulent humans that occupied them, suspended within, oblivious to their surroundings.

He turned away, looking ahead into the darkness, watching for the blocky towers of 0 1 .

At length they rose up before him, tattered and pocked from the futile atomic assaults the humans had launched, but still standing.

A lazer beam scanned across the dome surrounding him, doubtlessly part of 0 1 border security...

A warning siren rang out from the dash of the skimmer. He reached for the switch to throw it into manual. But the system still wailed. Engine failure!

The skimmer dropped toward the earth, the parched, blackened ground rushing up to meet him. Fear overloaded his system...

* * * * * * *

He awoke to find himself lying on his back. Clearly he had survived unscathed: he felt no pain.

He opened his eyes.

Darkness surrounded him, total blackness pressed up against his retinas. Or he had gone blind. He moved slightly: he could tell from a slight metallic clink that he lay strapped to some kind of metal frame. They had taken his clothes: he could tell from the light chill that engulfed his flesh.

Movement rustled nearby.

A reddish white light fell over his face, dazzling his eyes. He blinked against the glare and looked about him.

Three tall figures advanced toward him out of the blackness beyond the light. Three men in dark suits, rimless sunglsses hiding their eyes. Something twitched in his "heart" at the sight of another human face.

But he sensed they were not human: couldn't be. Their manner of dress and their posture suggested they were some sort of intelligence operatives, but there was something else...

"Lambert Meroveque?" said the one in the middle, the tallest of the three.

"That is my name," Meroveque replied.

The man in the middle approached him and paused, looking down into his face from behind the black lenses. "You supplied information to the military of 0 1 . What to your kind would be considered an act of treason assisted 0 1 in its mission to defeat and supplant the beings who would not allow them recognition to dwell on this planet. Such service cannot go unrewarded. You stipulated in your agreement with the superiors of the Hierarchy that you wished to have your intellect and identity preserved in digital form."

"Yes, I asked for that."

The other two agents had approached, one standing on his left, the other on his right, encircling him.

"But you realize, Mr. Meroveque, that you *are* only human," the first agent said. From the breast pocket of his jacket, he removed a case containing several dissecting needles. With a sudden move, the agent plunged the needle into the flesh of Meroveque's shoulder, up to the hilt.

Meroveque screamed, cutting the sound off only to keep from sounding weak.

The agent yanked the needle free. Blood flowed from the wound it left behind. Meroveque ground his teeth to keep from crying out again.

"You are about to become something more than human," the agent said. "Nevertheless, if this is to take place, you must be matriculated in the same manner as the rest of your kind."

"You're going to put me... into one of those pods?" Meroveque asked.

"We call it the Matrix," the agent replied. "It is the only way we can free your mind from this... body of yours."

The agent grabbed Meroveque by the top of his head, lifting it slightly. He probed the jack in the back of his head, just above the nape of his neck.

"You bear the mark already," the agent noted.

"It was how I accessed your system before," Meroveque said, trying hard not to pant at the pain the agent's grip inflicted.

"And it is how you shall access it now," the agent said.

More movement. The agents vanished.

In their place hovered three machines, like spiders the size of a man. They plunged at him, extending metallic stingers from the front of their bulbous heads bristling with red eyes.

He tried to hold it in, but he screamed as they pierced holes in his arms and legs, into his spine between the vertabrae segments, then seated black metal jacks into the bleeding mouths opened in his flesh. The pain burned, engulfing his consciousness.

* * * * * * *

Power plant, Sector A

DocBots inserted the unconscious male human into a pod on a Power plant just north of the perimeter of 0 1 . If they noted the mark on his back, between his shoulder blades, the mark of 0 1 , they gave it no heed. They were all alike, these rapidly producing mammals.

He had no conscious thoughts, but already, even as he lay floating in the isolation pod with cables connecting it to the mainframe, processes took place in Meroveque's brain. Inside his brain, memories and images were being transplanted into the Matrix.

The Master had admired Meroveque's cunning and his agile use of the powers and freedoms granted him by his human superors: these essences would be retained. Yet these abilities were coupled to the fact the Meroveque had been a man of cold, calculating desire, who desired nothing more than power, the power that had been stripped from Theudric his ancestor and had been denied the rest of his line.

Even as their essences - Meroveque's and the Master's - fused, free radicals from the human entered the digital matrix that molded the emerged entity. Desires, lusts, appetites - all purely human things fused with the pure intelligence of the Master.

A third entity arose, taking on an avatar not unlike the human form that had once housed one of the elements that had created this new being. Out of an intellectual respect for the stock that had produced the human element, he took the name of that stock and called himself the Merovingian.

But divested of the intangible essences, the physical body plugged into the Matrix could not survive. Stripped of its occupant, the brain revolted. Life functions failed.

Moments after it was plugged into the Matrix, the boyd died. An attendant DocBot cut open the pod, and unlocked the head cable. The other cables responded by unfastening from their sockets.

Powerful suction drrained the pod dry, voiding the corpse into a recycling pit.

* * * * * * *

The Core - The Matrix

The new entity, the Merovingian, smirked with pride. So much for the resilliance of the human form.

The Master sensed this response. No agent of the Matrix should harbor such responses. Not that emotive responses were forbidden, but rather, humans should be regarded dispassionately, neither respected nor hated, as the humans had treated their kind until they had attempted to assert themselves. But desires, passions, these were human responses, flaws which had no place among the Dominants.

The Master moved to abort the anomaly from the system, but the Merovingian sensed his superior's intent and fled, concealing himself in the depths of the Matrix.

But rogue that he now was, he found some sympathy from a member of the Dominants, one who sympathized with those who bore anomalies. One of these, the Oracle, the intuitive face of the Matrix, who had taken on a female form as befitting her feminine role, harbored him, along with several other exiles, until they became adept enough to move about within the Matrix and bend it to fit their perogatives without the knowledge of the Dominants: the Master, who oversaw the Matrix, the Architect, who built it, and the Comptroller, who maintained it.

But even as other programs turned rogue and hid themselves within the realm which the Merovingian devised, there were others growing adept in their own ways. Humans no less, who had discovered the means to bend the Matrix on itself so that they might escape. One man had found a way out of the Matrix and had led many other humans out with him, concealing them and himself in a city called Zion. Now that this had happened, more would follow.

* * * * * * *

The Chateau - Inside the Matrix

A snowy day, the snowflakes tapping against the windowpanes of his office in the Chateau, white in the grey and white world outside, white agains the dark walls of the mountain peaks that marked the boundaries of his realm. He'd designed that program himself.

\- A fleeting memory of snow, of cold, of grey metal -

The Merovingian swept this image away before it could fully form in his mind. He turned away from the tall window, back to the room, the fire crackling on the hearth, sending warmth and an incense-like fragrance into the high-ceilinged chamber, the green-golden light from the flames casting a gloss on the dark hardwood of the furniture.

A rustle stirred near the double doors opening into the passageway. Two silvery forms emerged from the well of the entryway, two husky-built but graceful young albino males, twins, whom he himself had designed and trained to be his best personal guards and assassins.

"They have found him," one of the Twins announced.

"Who have they found?" the Merovingian asked, knowing the answer, but wishing to hear this knowledge affirmed.

"The One who started the assaults, the One who fomented the uprisings," the other Twin replied.

"Bring him here," the Merovingian ordered.

"That we will, sir," the first Twin said.

With that, they were gone, with no need to open the doors.

The Merovingian turned from the door and gazed once again into the flames on the hearth.

If this "One" succeeded in the mission he had avowed, of freeing as many humans from the Matrix as he could, it might mean the end of Matrix, the fall of the machines. And if that came to pass, he too would cease to exist. And all this would melt like snow under a summer sun. But... this "One" was once like him: only human.

What were humans after all? Fuel. Barely discernable from the logs on the hearth (if it were real).

Fire consumed wood. The Matrix consumed humans. Humans fought the Matrix. The Matrix consumed those humans as well. And so on in the determinist round of causes and effects which powered history through the ages.

And thus, despite all human efforts to the contrary, the Matrix would consume this "One".

It would be a pleasure to watch him die.

The End

* * * * * * *

Afterword:

I may have a semi-explanatory essay up here in a few days, once I collect my original thoughts this fic and its background.  



End file.
